m e t h o d .

research, and study, and journal, and improv, and improv, and improv, and generate character until you're sure you will die from exhaustion. lose consciousness. if you do open your eyes again, repeat. when the day arrives and cameras roll throw it all away and see what results the universe is merciful enough to grant you.

m i n d s e t .

keep the impostor syndrome. nurture the weed like it's a perfect rose. tell yourself you're a fraud and will never be good enough and can never assume another's identity with full empathy and understanding because you are forever dissatisfied and can only produce garbage because meaning and value are fleeting and you fucking hope you are strong enough to even chase them for a moment.

if someone tells you it's good, they're wrong. if someone tells you you are good, they could not be more wrong. if someone tells you the story is noble and to be worshipped and serviced like god damn Athena, they are right.

never trust your ego, and always be a student.

p h i l o s o p h y .

love him. love her. love them so deeply, as if you were the world's first mother, that the sun would burn out before they do wrong, because the circumstances of their life are entirely unique and misunderstood by the world save you, which is why their story must be told. you are an empty vessel, they are a divine existence that continually passes through you, and you will not stop dreaming of them and breathing them and cherishing them until their slightest whim has become your deepest motivation -- and you are one.